


Americano

by MistoffLikeKristoff



Series: The Object of My Affection [4]
Category: Cats (2019), Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Clubbing, Getting in Trouble, M/M, The Lesbian Bar of my Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistoffLikeKristoff/pseuds/MistoffLikeKristoff
Summary: "Tugger playfully elbowed him and climbed behind the counter, helping himself to the espresso machine.  'It’s not a question, Buttons, you ARE coming.  You look sad.  You want Munk to come home to a sad boyfriend?  No.  Sad boyfriends are bad boyfriends.'"Misto and Tugger are bad influences on each other, in a great way.
Relationships: Mr. Mistoffelees/Munkustrap (Cats)
Series: The Object of My Affection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623436
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Americano

**Author's Note:**

> It's my fantasy, so you know it's gotta have "a crowded and fun lesbian club where we are protected by our brothers who love and cherish us".
> 
> Cue up some Blümchen and have a Happy Socially Distanced Pride, everyone :)

Mistoffelees refilled the creamer at the table under the bulletin board, shuffled around some sugar packets, and sighed. He stared out the window and wondered what time it was.

He sighed again.

“Mistoffelees, I’m going to strangle you.”

He snapped to attention, eyes meeting Cassandra’s flat gaze. “W-what?”

Cassandra crossed her arms across her chest. “I’ve been calling your name for five minutes now.”

Mistoffelees very quickly pretended to be vigorously wiping a table. Cass wasn’t buying it. “You  _ volunteered _ to take this shift, so it is absolutely beyond me why you keep moaning like a lovesick schoolboy.”

“I’m not--!” Misto puffed up defensively, but felt it fade. “... maybe a little.”

Cassandra stepped out from behind the counter, huffing a bit in exasperation that Misto hoped was affectionate. “I know Munkustrap is out of town and that’s clearly put you in a weird headspace. Fine. But you’re lucky there aren’t any customers right now, because you are totally unfocused!”

She was right, he was depressed. Munk had left earlier in the week, scouting locations for next year’s gala, which meant Misto had the apartment to himself. He didn’t  _ like _ having the apartment to himself. It was lonely. There were noises in the walls that he was sure he’d never heard before and he didn’t sleep well. He’d eagerly taken on any shifts at the café to keep busy but he was starting to regret it.

“I’m sorry,” Misto said softly, a growing wetness in his eyes betraying him. 

Cassandra recoiled, scrunching up her face like she’d eaten something sour. “Ew, no, don’t be like that--”

The bell on the front door jangled as it swung open. “Who's ready to dance!”, Tugger shouted to the empty café, arms above his head, hip cocked. Was he posing? It looked like he was posing. “... what’s going on in here? Somebody die?”

Mistoffelees dabbed at his eyes and quickly forced a smile. Cassandra turned towards Tugger and made a show of pointedly looking at her watch. “Tugger, we’re still open for another 22 minutes.”

“There’s  _ nobody here _ , Cass. Close up early, who will know!” Tugger bounced on his heels impatiently.

“Scofflaw-- _ I’ll  _ know.” Stern. But Cassandra’s expression cracked, just in the slightest, as she said, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start counting the till.” She headed towards the register.

Misto cleared his throat. “Are you guys going out after this?”

Tugger grinned and threw an arm around Misto’s shoulders. “Oh yes. Hitting the Meow Club. Jemima is doing a set. Come with us! It’ll be a great time.”

“I don’t know, I--” Misto trailed off. 

Tugger playfully elbowed him and climbed behind the counter, helping himself to the espresso machine. “It’s not a question, Buttons, you ARE coming. You look sad. You want Munk to come home to a sad boyfriend? No. Sad boyfriends are bad boyfriends. Americano?”

Mistoffelees pressed his lips together, intending to defend himself, trying to think of a response that he could be proud of, but nothing clever came to mind. “Sure, but leave room,” he responded blandly.

Tugger shimmied his hips as he poured the shots into the waiting paper cup and handed it towards Misto. “Sweeten it up, you sweet little thing.” He started up another round of shots to make a drink for himself.

Cassandra’s voice rang in from the back office. “Are you going to pay for those drinks, Tugger?”

Mistoffelees shrank as he tipped two packets of sugar into his cup.

Tugger yelled back, “Put it on my tab, Cass!”

“You don’t have a tab, Tugger.”

Tugger grinned at Misto, all teeth and charm. “Fine, put it on Munk’s tab.”

*************

The Meow Club dance floor was packed this evening; the clientele was almost exclusively lesbian patrons, but Tugger never let labels get in the way of a good party. His natural charisma opened a lot of doors-- as did his willingness to sponsor a bottle service or five.

Leaning on a high top by the bar, Misto pulled a bit at the hem of the shirt Tugger had lent him. The fabric was very slippery and the closure stopped too low. Definitely a blouse. “You can’t go dancing in your work uniform,” Tugger had balked, producing the shirt from his satchel like a slutty fairy godmother.

Jemima hadn’t taken the stage yet; Munkustrap would be sad he missed her performance, Mistoffelees thought. She had a clear, bright voice that matched well with dance music and Munk became her loudest cheerleader when she expressed interest in pop. Munk was so supportive. Misto wondered how Munk was doing.

Cassandra pushed a glass of cider into Misto’s hands. He was expecting admonishment for spacing out again but she just arched one delicate, sculpted eyebrow at him and sampled her own drink, something dark in a tumbler.

The club was dimly lit but Tugger radiated light and energy from amongst the crowd of well-dressed ladies. Sipping the cider, Misto admired his confidence. “Tugger just wants you to have a good time,” Cassandra said, gazing out at the dancing crowd. “He comes off a little brash about it, but he adores you.”

Misto inelegantly choked on a mouthful of alcohol. “Me?”

Cassandra contemplated her glass, swirling it gently. “Of course. You make Munkustrap happy, and that makes Tugger happy.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Munk is our brother, and it’s nice to see him in a good place. And if you hurt him, I’ll kill you, and they’ll never find your body.”

Mistoffelees chugged the rest of his drink.

As though answering his prayers for a distraction, Jemima appeared on the stage in a black sequined romper, microphone in hand, and the DJ cued up an uptempo electronic track. A slightly-sweaty Tugger jogged to their table, stole the rest of Cassandra’s drink in one long swallow, and pulled Misto with him to the dance floor.

*************

After her set, Cassandra rewarded Jemima with a cocktail, clinking their glasses together. Misto pulled her in for a hug and some enthusiastic compliments. She was so energized and adorable; Mistoffelees loved to see her light up the room.

“I felt like the lyrics didn’t land on the third song,” Jemima said, bouncing a little, “but otherwise I think it went really well!”

“It was great, you sounded absolutely angelic!” Misto reassured her.

Cassandra smiled, just slightly. “You really are coming into your own.”

Jemima feigned shock. “You can’t just say things like that _ out loud _ ! People will think you’ve gone soft.”

After finishing drinks and exchanging more hugs, Tugger announced that it was time to change clubs. He never overstayed his welcome, Misto mused. Cassandra stayed behind to wait for Demeter, but Misto was curious how the night would progress, so he linked arms with Jemima and followed Tugger towards the front.

"I've got a great party we should hit, it's inside a salon and they have red wine on tap--" Tugger suddenly stopped, causing Misto and Jemima to bump into him. 

There was a man trying to force his way into the club-- he was clearly too intoxicated, swaying and swearing. The door was being blocked by Plato and Socrates, looking implacable.

"Sorry, mate, but unaccompanied gentlemen are not welcome at the Meow Club," Plato held up a hand, barring entry.

"There are plenty of other clubs that would be happy to have you," Socrates gestured up the street, "so please leave these nice women alone and go on your way."

The drunk leaned around them, trying to catch a peek inside the club. Tugger moved forward, casually blocking his path, and addressed the twins. “Boys, is someone trying to interrupt our darling ladies’ good time?”

Plato smirked, arms crossed. The atmosphere seemed tense, and the unwanted guest wouldn’t stop yelling. Jemima’s brow furrowed in concern-- Mistoffelees didn’t want to watch this pleasant evening end in a fight.

Misto squeezed Jemima’s hand and quietly slid away past her, past the twins at the door and past Tugger who was sizing up the drunk man. The sleeves on his borrowed top weren’t designed in such a way as to disguise any real sleight-of-hand-- but he was sure he could make this work.

Deftly, unnoticed, he slipped the drunk’s wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, palmed it, and returned to the club door to pass it to Jemima. He hoped that his slow nod would convey the rest of the plan to her-- she always seemed a little bit psychic, Misto thought, as she flipped open the wallet to inspect the drunk’s ID.

“Mister Thomas, is it?” Jemima glided between Tugger and Plato, holding the wallet just out of his reach. “It looks like you dropped this, on your way home to,” she read off his card, “Cherry Lane? Sounds charming.”

The newly named and ashamed Mister Thomas started blubbering, before snatching the wallet back from Jemima and slinking off down the street. “Have a nice evening, Mister Thomas!”, Mistoffelees and Jemima called in unison.

Tugger clapped Misto on the back, a bit too enthusiastically. “Amazing work, really fine stuff, just first rate!” He threw his arms over Jemima and Misto’s shoulders and marched them towards the street. “Plato, Socrates, when does your shift end? Join us!”

The twins shook their heads in unison. “Wouldn’t want any nasties to see the bouncers have left and take advantage, Tugger.”

“Good chaps, good chaps,” Tugger nodded firmly. “Tell the ladies I love each and every one of them. Now, on to the next soiree! First round is on me.”

*************

There were probably too many rounds. Tugger regaled anyone who would listen with the tale of the  _ Defeat of the Terrible Drunkard _ , adding another bit of embellishment with each recitation. But it did earn Misto a lot of free drinks (the red wine on tap was… something, that’s for sure) and it was very very late before he found himself returning to the empty apartment.

He was pleasantly tipsy and quite warm, and he kicked off his shoes before bypassing his own bedroom. Without really planning it, Misto found himself settling into Munk’s bed. It smelled nice, and he fell asleep immediately.

Not enough hours had passed before he was being shaken awake by firm hands. 

“Misto, are you alright?”

Mistoffelees rubbed at his eyes. Munk was here! What a pleasant dream. “I missed you,” Misto said to Dream Munkustrap, leaning in for a kiss.

“I missed you too, but what on earth happened last night?” Munk’s expression came into focus as Misto awoke more fully, realizing that this wasn’t a dream, and that Munkustrap looked extremely concerned and very wrung-out.

“Uhhh, we went… clubbing?”

Munk pulled Misto into his chest. “Tugger left me a voicemail saying you were mugged! When I couldn’t reach you, I started driving,” he said, voice catching a bit in his throat.

Misto willed the room to stop spinning. “Mugged?”

“Yes! There was a lot of background noise, but he said you were pickpocketed by some angry drunk guy in the street and that he couldn’t believe it--”

Misto fumbled for his phone. Dead battery.  _ Oh no. _

“M-munk, I think you’ve got it all wrong, and I’m  _ so _ happy to see you but,” Misto took a deep breath, “I was, uh, I was sort of the one who  _ did _ the pickpocketing?”

Munkustrap leaned back, face carefully flat. “I’m going to make some tea. Then you are going to explain this all to me.” He looked Misto up and down. “Where did you get that shirt?”

*************

His shift at the coffee shop that afternoon was torture. Fighting off a hangover was one thing -- Mistoffelees had honestly anticipated being a bit tattered-- but the conflicting emotions of having Munk back but also having frightened him was a heavy weight.

Jemima was amazingly chipper. She hummed as she delicately floated a feather pattern on the latte she was making. 

“Jemima, how are you--” he gestured towards her in a broad motion, “like this.”

She smiled, effortlessly cute. “I had a nice time last night! Didn’t you?”

Misto sighed. “I mean, yes-- but--”

The bells on the door caught the attention of the whole café. “Ladies and gents!” Tugger entered with his usual flourish. “Time to switch from coffee to cocktails, am I right?”

“It’s 3pm, Tugger!” Jemima cheerfully yelled back. There were giggles from a small clutch of customers.

Mistoffelees strongly considered hiding under the counter, but Tugger was on him in a flash. “Hey, mate, how are you holding up?”

“Fine? Fine,” Misto said, “... I’m really tired.”

Tugger laughed, but clapped Misto on the back with affection. “Munkustrap gave you a full reprimand, huh! He’s been attempting to scold me for the past three hours but I just keep hanging up.”

As if on cue, Tugger’s cell phone pealed a series of loud melodic beeps. Tugger ignored it.

“Misto,” Tugger looked at him with unusual seriousness, “I think what you did last night was really tops, honestly. And I wanted Munk to know all about it, because he should know what a great guy he’s with-- sorry that I got you in trouble.”

Mistoffelees flushed. “It was a misunderstanding, it’s not your fault--”

Tugger laughed again. “You’re going to ruin my reputation! I’m the Rum Tum Tugger, it’s  _ always _ my fault.”

Jemima looked up from her phone. “Munk just texted me, dinner is at his place tonight! He wants you there too, Tugger.”

Tugger winced, mouth pulled into a grimace. Under his breath, he muttered, “Making Jem do your dirty work, that’s unfair, Munk.”

Misto gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Dinner will be nice. As will the Powerpoint presentation on street safety and phone etiquette.”

Tugger flashed Misto a toothy grin. “Hit me up with a coffee, Buttons, it’s going to be a long evening.”


End file.
